Enigmatic Curls
by 24601bakerstreet
Summary: What if a childhood playmate came back to visit Sherlock after a tragic accident? What is hidden beneath all of those curls there was a brain to rival even Sherlock's? What happens when your heart gets in the way of your head? This is probably going to be a OC/Sherlock Romance and Rated T for my paranoia and mild swearing and possible sexual content of later chapters.
1. Coffee, Sundays and Boredom

**Coffee, Boredom and Sundays**

I sit in my squat, well-worn chair with my feet propped up on the coffee table, laptop warming hole in my corduroys. Sherlock lies on his back on the couch on the back wall, knees popped and hands pressed together under his chin in a praying position. His breathing isn't even, so he isn't asleep. Of course, that could be assumed. Sherlock never sleeps anyway. His ratty blue bathroom falls open to reveal his pale chest, in stark contrast to the dark purple bruises forming on his stomach. Of course he wouldn't tell me where they came from, damn bastard, going off on whatever it was on the days I'm home with Mary at home, getting hurt. I tell Mrs. Hudson to watch him, make sure he doesn't end up in anymore drug dens, but the women can only do so much. I suppose she isn't his nanny, but still, I worry. At least she gets him to eat and shower from time to time or the man would starve to death or choke on his own repulsive stench. I exhale in a loud, Humph. Sherlock's pale, blue-green eyes fly open.

"You're agitated about something," Sherlock sighs with annoyance, almost as if he's annoyed I even brought enough attention to myself for him to notice, "I can tell…"

"I know you can tell Sherlock," I say, slightly irked, "I never said I doubted that you could figure me out. But please, I don't feel like being analyze like some sort of experiment now." Sherlock makes a low, irritated noise in the back of his throat as he eases himself back on the couch again. I roll my eyes. I wasn't lying through my teeth when I called him a drama queen. I re-position my legs and scroll down my blog, glancing at comments, nothing interesting, and nothing new. Just the same case files with the same, "You're brilliant" or "Father My Children Sherlock Holmes" comments or something else equally ridiculous that just causes Sherlock to roll his eyes to the point they might just fall right out of his head when I read them aloud. I begin to read some of our newer emails aloud; Sherlock continues to fidget, attempting to make himself comfortable again.

"Mr. Holmes," I say clearing my throat slightly, "My maid has gone missing and my husband says he hasn't seen her since Sunday night when she le-"

"Dull," He sighs now sitting upright and facing me as he begins standing up pacing, "She left on her own accord. She got pregnant with the women's husband child and she's left due to embarrassment." He walks over to peer over my shoulder at my glowing computer screen.

"Okay," I say, trying to hide my irritation, "This bloke says he's got a shape shifting snake."

"He's lying," He exclaims in a deeply vexed, as he straightened himself out, "Also the 'bloke' is a woman. A bit of a con too." He exhales and collapses in his normal seat across from me and haphazardly rumbles his hair causing his already mess curls to become an unmanageable tangle of dark tendrils.

I begin to read the next email, something about a possible affair, from out of nowhere there is a sudden burst of sound from elsewhere in the flat, sort of explosive clattering, like horse hooves on cobblestones. Sherlock's eyes fly up, glancing around the flat, already processing who or what it might be. Mrs. Hudson's voice wafts up to our flat,

"Boys" She calls, "You have a client." She barely finishes her sentence and suddenly the door flies open and a blur of movement races into the room.

I can't help but think to myself, "This Sunday might not be so boring after all."


	2. Evelyn Pepper Elizabeth Scott

**Evelyn Pepper Elizabeth Scott**

The blur suddenly slows and I realize a woman is standing in the middle of our apartment. I would think she was pretty too, if I knew for certain Mary wouldn't fly into the apartment and beat me over the head. But since I don't know that for a fact, I won't let my subjective cloud my vision. She was relatively average sized, 5'6 feet tall, somewhat curvaceous but not is a bowl you over bombshell sort of way. She wore a navy blue pea coat with a pair of dark jeans that were obviously well-worn at the knees with a pair of somewhat scuffed up black flats. She had a slender, incredibly pale face with defined cheekbones and electrifyingly blue eyes. Her nose was sharp but feminine and a light dusting of freckles dotted her otherwise perfect skin. Auburn curls fell to her shoulders with side-swepted bangs that fell slightly in front of her eyes. She somehow looked unkempt, but put together. Almost like she hadn't brushed her hair or been jostled on the bus on her way here, almost unnoticeable but somehow out-of-place. I glance over at Sherlock after I've given her a once over. His mouth is hanging open like a fish. I beckon her towards the chair.

"Sit down; you obviously have something to tell us." She sits quietly in the hard wooden chair placed awkwardly in front of Sherlock and my chairs. She doesn't speak, her lips pressed into a thin line and Sherlock continues to gape. The silence is unnerving, most clients start blabbering as soon as they get in the door. I clear my throat self-consciously, trying to snap Sherlock out of his trance like state.

"What's your name then?" I ask, cringing at my rudeness.

"Would you like my full name?" Her voice lacks any sort of cockney drawl and sounds completely upper-class British, eloquent and smooth, lacking awkward consonants, only smooth vowels. I nod quietly. "Evelyn Pepper Elizabeth Scott." She replies matter-of-factly.

"May I call you Evelyn?" I ask, afraid that if I don't call her by her full name she might be offended. Of course I'm not in the business of appeasing everyone. She nods weakly. I can already tell she spoke with eloquence but preached brevity. Sherlock is still busy with something else, hardly even present, so I decide to begin the interview myself.

"So, what happ-" I pause mid-sentence is surprise as Sherlock jumps up and begins pacing in front of Evelyn who's still sitting calmly in her chair. I glance at his he presses his hands together under his chin, obviously already analyzing the situation. I open my mouth again to begin my question again but Sherlock suddenly cuts me off.

"Have the police taken over already?" He inquires curtly, his eyes changing to a stormy gray-blue. She nods solemnly.

"What a load of idiots they are too." She gives Sherlock a watery smile "can't even do basic forensics, I can see why they need you." Sherlock lets a small smirk flit across his face, it's obvious they know each other, she knows has to get him to smile; even it's just boosting his ego. It's practically like they're reading minds, know exactly what the other is going to say. And yet, I don't know what the case is yet.

"What do you know already?" She looks earnestly at Sherlock, "Not much probably, Mycroft said you've lost your touch." A smirk flickers across her face, posing an obvious challenge, giving him a chance to show off. She was playing him better than Sherlock plays his violin.

"Um, sorry to interrupt the nuptial," I exclaim sarcastically, "But I do believe we have a case to solve." I raise my eyebrows at Sherlock, attempting to convey my annoyance. It's lost on him completely as he continues to pace in front of Evelyn's chair. "Sherlock, what'd even going on?"

"Oh nothing too monumental, only the violent murder of my childhood nanny." At that Evelyn Pepper Elizabeth Scott stares at Sherlock with interest.

"Very good Mr. Homes," She simpered, "I suppose Mycroft was wrong."


	3. Hips Don't Lie

**Hips Don't Lie**

**A/N:  
Sorry about the cheesy title but creativity doesn't flow out of me like a waterfall. I'm a little busy this week, I'll try to update when I can, but I might be too busy until Friday. But thanks for all the follows and reviews!**

I was still in a state of shock as Sherlock resumed pacing.

"How…how?" I manage to stutter out, still vaguely confused that Sherlock had a nanny. Sherlock cocks his head in Evelyn's direction as if to say, How can he not figure this out? She shrugs in return. Sherlock responds to the indifferent shrug with a deep sigh.

"She has splatters of blood near the soles of her shoes." He spits out rapid fire, "A normal person doesn't find that much blood unless it's oozing out a human at a great velocity." He barely pauses before launching into the next sentence, "The fact that the blood is splattered implies that she walked into the blood unexpectedly, or else she would have walked around it to avoid getting on her shoes." He was on a roll now. "I also happen to remember her as a childhood playmate who just so happens to be my nanny's daughter," He says gesturing towards Evelyn, "She's too well off to have a flatshare, so it's not a flatmate's blood. And I happen to know she have brunch with her mother on Sundays."

"How can you tell?" She questions in an almost flirtatiously teasing tone.

"Pea coat. You don't like it, it still has tags on it and it's almost perfectly clean." He stops for breath and she arches her eyebrows in a questioning way. "It also gives you a rash, you keep itching your neck. You're not wearing it because you want to. You're trying to impress someone, but it's too early to be on a date and you have office keys, meaning it's not a job interview. So the only person left to impress is your mother, meaning you were probably going over to her house. Unexpected murder and your mother's house, not too hard to put together. "Evelyn smiles, almost like the murder is some sort of game.

"You were wrong about the brunch though," She says as Sherlock's smirk begins to slip. "It was actually tea, I was just running early."

"Anything else I got wrong?" Sherlock asks in a tone that is about as close to flirting as Sherlock will ever get.

"Nothing else Mr. Holmes." She smiles with a small tinkling laugh. Laughing at murders, Evelyn and Sherlock were a match made in Hell.

"I'll go look at the corpse." Sherlock says trying to mask his excitement. Before I can even comprehend what's going on Sherlock grabs my fore arm and drags me out of my chair. He slides on his long navy coat and scarf, never loosening his grip on my forearm. We bumble out the door and clatter down the stairs, feet barely making contact. Evelyn plodding quietly behind us with her hands jammed in her pockets.

"We're going out Mrs. Hudson." He yells in his deep baritone. We stumble out the doorframe, hitting my arm on the doorframe. As I recover from my injury, both Evelyn and Sherlock stand shoulder to shoulder with their almost identical pale, elegant hands outstretched in an attempt to hail a taxi. The traffic whizzing past them, all of London in a few moments. I stand awkwardly behind them, both almost identical with their navy coats and thin frames. A small black London taxi pulls over and we all force ourselves into the backseat meant for two at most. It's a tight squeeze with Evelyn almost sitting on top of Sherlock and his hands displaced awkwardly on my knee.

"Seer Flats, Whitechapel Road." Evelyn says uncomfortable as she attempts to shift herself off of Sherlock's lap. The cabbie pulls into traffic jerkily causing Evelyn to slide back onto Sherlock's lap.

"Okay," I say, bracing myself to be called out for my blatant stupidity and lack of observation skills, "How do you two know each other, I mean really." Sherlock and Evelyn eyes meet and she shrugs slightly.

"Childhood friends, in the simplest terms." Sherlock says with little expression as he stares blankly out the window. Seeing I was unsatisfied with Sherlock's answer Evelyn sighs,

"His mother was a bit over whelmed," she explains, "She had two incredibly active boys, both who were already too bright for their mother and their schools." She sighs again and glances at Sherlock as if asking for him to complete the story. "So Mrs. Holmes found my mother, who at the time provided nanny services as well as homeschooling." Evelyn is suddenly is distracted by a thought and doesn't pick up her story and stares out the window. Now it's Sherlock's turn to sigh. He tries to shift his leg from underneath Evelyn with little effect.

"Her mother was very bright, so my parents hired her," Sherlock said picking the story back up with reluctance, but never breaking concentration from the window, "Evelyn's mother taught Mycroft and I practically everything we know about deductions, things like comings and goings, affairs and what not as well as other useful things, such science experimentation." He paused for a moment, letting the rumble of the engine over take the moment, "She acted as a nanny as well, spending most of the day at our house." He sighs, already boring of the story, "She kept us entertained." Sherlock added thoughtfully.

"And one day, my father disappeared," Evelyn cut back in, "No trace of him, and my mother couldn't very well leave me home alone. So she started bring me to the Holmes to play while she worked." She let a small smile slip through her otherwise serious demeanor. "Sherlock, Mycroft and I were at very similar intelligence levels so we got along very well. All in all, it worked out very well."

The cab pulled to a stop jerkily causing Sherlock to slam into Evelyn's back and caused him to grab her waist to keep her from flying through the front windshield. I assumed nothing of the incident until as we stood on the sidewalk I saw the light pink, embarrassed flush to both parties' cheeks.

There was obviously something they weren't telling me.


	4. Human

**Human- John's POV**

But as fast as the blushes appeared, they faded and they were dragging me by my forearm into a monstrous, glassy flat complex. The front of the building gives off a blinding glare in the midmorning sun. Evelyn pushes ahead shoving through a revolving door that spins like a confused helicopter and Sherlock shoves ahead at her heels, exploding into a cavernous lobby, almost looking more like a hotel than flats. The glistening marble floor clacked under of heels and the immense crystal chandelier that glistened a soft glow onto us, making Sherlock's hair almost a dark purple. The overstuffed couches with giant throw pillows and thick ornate carpets dominated the center of the room. The whole place radiated elegance, somewhere some rich little old lady with good taste would probably live. Too stuffy for young people, but very nice all the same. Sherlock seems unfazed by the enormity of the room and simply thrusts open a door that leads into a stairwell and holds it in a gentlemanly manner,

"After you." He beacons in his deep baritone to Evelyn, she slides carefully past him with surprising grace and agility and bounds up the stairs two at a time. A small smile tugs at Sherlock's eyes as he chases after her, the door almost swinging closed on me in his wake. Their steps echo, bouncing off each other in the dank, smelly concrete stairwell as I ease up the steep incline. Just from their steps I can tell Sherlock is starting to get excited, he's jumping about, clearing several stairs at a time as Evelyn, now several steps behind him, almost tiptoes, trying to silence her feet after the din caused by her initial excitement. I bound up several steps as quickly as possible, trying not to be left in the dust and reach the landing after much physical exertion. Sherlock practically knocks the heavy metal door off its hinges as he rams into it with excited energy that could rival a puppies. A slam and sharp click bounce off the walls and mingle with my huffing and puffing as we press into the brightly lit hallway. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the loud, bright clatter of the police hub that had taken over the otherwise normal hallway. The area almost hummed with activity as people bustled about, the smell of coffee mingling with that of cologne and perfumes of 10 other Yardies. It smelled like morning, everyone almost still half asleep, wishing they could have their Sunday mornings back. Donovan was talking rapid fire to a very tired looking Greg Lestrade. Sherock stops right at the doorframe causing Evelyn to run into his back and he simple shouts,

"I'd like to see the body." He announced as if he was simply informing us of the weather or the current statistics of a football game. Donovan looks up and rolls her eyes with obvious annoyance.

"Who let the freak know?" She asked accusingly.

"I did, actually," Evelyn said quietly, stepping out from behind Sherlock," He's a childhood friend; I know he likes this sort of thing." She smiles shyly.

"Wait...what?" Donovan stammered, questioning, almost unable to comprehend that Evelyn was telling the truth. Lestrade sighs,

"Five minutes." He says rubbing his head. Donovan grudgingly raises the yellow caution tape for us to duck under. Without any further confirmation Sherlock grabs Evelyn's hand and yanks her into the flat, somewhat forcefully. I follow closely behind, receiving a glare from Donovan and another sigh from Greg.

As we entered the flat, Evelyn gets uncharacteristically reserved; her hands clasp in front of her, Sherlock on the other hand, spins around in frenzy, trying to take it in all as fast as he could.

"He entered through the skylight," He says murmuring, half showing off, half talking to himself. "The pattern of the break at the lock implies bolt cutters…" He trails off and races to the next object that catches his fancy. Evelyn's lips are pursed tightly and tears are spring up at the corners of her cobalt blue eyes, her skin has paled significantly and she is slowly following Sherlock, falling back, near me and Greg. I reach for her hand, an attempt to comfort her, she yanks it away and quickens her gait, trying to shrug off the sadness, she races into the next room where a pale figure lay face down, blood oozing onto the otherwise immaculate white tiles. Sherlock is examining the fingernails closely. Evelyn suddenly makes noises that are a combination of a sob and a squeak. Sherlock looks up suddenly, startled by the sharp noise. He studies Evelyn's face intently. Tears begin streaming down her pale face, leaving salty, wet streaks on her cheeks. There is a sudden flash of concern in Sherlock's eyes, the most human I've ever seen him. Without further conversation he jots a quick note on a loose piece of paper and stands, unfurling his expanse of legs and jammed the small piece of paper into Greg's hand and wraps his spindly arms around Evelyn in a tight bear hug. She buries her face into his coat, attempting to stifle her sobs. Sherlock gently rubs her unruly curls as Greg unfolds the now crinkled paper that simple read,

"YOU WANT CECIL SCOTT"

"You want Cecil Scott, what is that supposed to mean?" Greg exclaims in an annoyed voice, obviously not in the mood for Sherlock's cryptic answers. Sherlock gives him a look that could kill and man and simply mouths, 'Shut your mouth you arse.' He continues to stroke her hair murmuring a quiet song and rubs her back. My mouth hangs open in shock, a look Sherlock meets with an eye roll, somewhere in between annoyed and embarrassed. I glance at Lestrade who meets my gaze with a shrug.

"That's enough for today." Sherlock sighs over Evelyn's sniffles, "Five minutes is up anyway."

**A/N Sorry if Sherlock seems out of character, but it is my fanfiction and I do plan to make it OC/Sherlock so I have to have a little bit of foreshadowing!**


	5. Serendipity

**Serendipity- Sherlock's POV**

I had always believed that caring was not an advantage, but as Evelyn's eyes pooled with tears, I couldn't stop my hand from reaching out and brushing away the tears from under her eyes. As soon as those salty streams started running down her slender face, I couldn't stop myself from wrapping my arms around her trembling being, a pitiful attempt to protect her from the rest of the world. What fragile being humans were, as I held Evelyn's shaking body closer to my torso, prone to breaking at a drop of a hat. How odd it must be to care about something like this. Evelyn's tears soak slightly through my thick navy coat and realize that maybe it was a good time to leave.

"That's enough for today." I sigh over Evelyn's increasingly loud sniffles, "Five minutes is up anyway." I say as I calculate the time in my head. 4 minutes and 45 seconds since we walked in, 4 minutes and 20 seconds before Evelyn had started crying. "I'll text you," I growl at Lestrade, "later." I add after I evaluate how long it might take to stabilize Evelyn. I support her body, still racked with sobs as guide her carefully out of the flat and down the hall, a hornet hive of incompetent police and into the stairwell. We clatter down the stairs, the smell of urine and lemon cleaners slap me in the face as our feet slap the concrete steps, still attempting to support the uncharacteristically vulnerable Evelyn. I slipped into my mind palace, slipping and out of reality as Evelyn regained her lost composure, and walking wobbly on her legs. She'd managed to get slightly in front of me as I slid in and out of reality, I watch her intently for a moment, she'd broken up with a long term boyfriend recently, judging by the angry, choppy, done at home bob cut and she'd hit her knee on the tube this morning given her limp and mode of transit this morning. I let a smile flit across my face; she was so human, with little quirks and her empathy but still hundreds of time more intelligent than most humans. She was still the sweet girl that I had been friends with twenty years ago, the one who could dissect your life with a side glance. Vaguely annoyed at my nostalgia, I attempt to snap out of it as we stride through the grand lobby of the flats and whirl out of the revolving doors onto the buzzing sidewalk. Evelyn had fallen behind me again and was continuing her timid silence as I hailed a cab. A stocky black car pulled over to the curb. I swung open the door, beckoning to Evelyn to climb in. She climbs in, somewhat clumsily, a tangle of her limbs and coat. I pull myself, more gracefully and streamlined, next to her. I pull the door closed and give the driver our destination.

"221 Baker Street." I sigh to the cabbie. He was middle aged, in his forties. He was being cheated on by his wife's secret female lover and had an undiagnosed ulcer. HE was no one to fear, simply a below average man with a below average IQ.

For the first several minutes, we ride in silence, the cabbies atrocious pop music playing softly in the background. When suddenly Evelyn's abrasive laugh breaks the silence.

"How silly I must look," She chuckles angrily and wipes another tear from under her eye," To you. You don't care because caring isn't an advantage. I always thought that was just you being a sociopath and I'd just go my own merry little way. But look where caring got me." She let out another, harsh, angry laugh, "It got me sobbing my eyes out in the backseat of a London taxi." Another tear slid down her cheek.

"I suppose caring isn't for everyone," I say, choosing my words carefully, "But your combined intelligence as well as your caring makes you more valuable. You can solve the crime and save the life." I say, cringing almost instantly at the reference to my best man speech that Evelyn wouldn't notice. More tears stream down her face, turning it a blotchy shade of pink. I try hard to refrain, but I allow my thumb to graze under her eye, sweeping away the droplet of water that had settled there. She smiled at the touch, leaning her head into my hand. I barely noticed myself leaning in until out lips touched.

I had kissed several people in my life. The Women, Molly is moment of sheer excitement and wretched Marie in 10th grade. But this kiss was unlike the others, it was sweeter, softer. Evelyn's lips were slightly swollen from crying her lips tasted of tears and an unplaceable fruity flavor. She smelled lightly of her lemon and mint shampoo and a classic Channel perfume. I was suddenly overtaken by the pleasurable sensation of Evelyn running her fingers through my curls and wrapping strands around her index finger. Unsure of where to place my hands, I place them at the curve of her waist. The kiss deepened suddenly and I pulled her closer to me and for the first time in my entire life, my mind went blank and my thoughts went quiet. I could feel her body heat radiating off her as she pulled away from the kiss, much to my dismay, resting her head on my shoulder and released an uncharacteristically sweet sigh,

"That was unexpected." She smiled as the taxi pulled up in front of 221b Baker Street. "Serendipity if you like. " I try to focus on Evelyn's cyan eyes but my eyes are drawn to the door knocker. Meticulously straight. I don't have time for this. Evelyn reaches up and plants a peck on my cheek after we climb out of the taxi. I most definitely didn't have time for this.

**A/N So this was my stab at writing from Sherlock's POV. Sorry if it's garbage but I'm trying. Leave me reviews or suggestions! **


	6. The Mycroft Confrontation

**A/N Sorry for such the long wait! I had so much stuff going on. So, enjoy this chapter. I should hopefully post another soon, but we'll see. **

**The Mycroft Confrontation- Sherlock's POV**

As we climbed the steps to Baker Street, I somewhat more aggressively, Evelyn knocks the knocker back out of position and blocks the door before I can push past her and walk into the flat.

"I can do all the talking if you want." She sighs, already completely aware it was my brother inside the flat and even more aware that I didn't want to talk to him.

"I'll mange." My cold demeanor slipping back over the moment of sentiment I had shown in the cab. Evelyn recoils somewhat, somewhat hurt by my sudden mood swing. I shove past her more forcefully than needed and haphazardly throw my coat onto the coat rack, missing by a meter, but in my fueled irritation I fly up the stairs to the flat, to see my brother standing between John and I's chairs, twirling his umbrella with precision.

"Hello brother dear." Mycroft greeted coolly.

"Yes, hello Mycroft," I sighed between an eye roll. He was dragging out the pleasantries, the small talk simply to annoy me. I hated the mindless babble, "What do you need?" I questioned, interrupting my own thoughts.

"I just heard about Evelyn's mother. What terrible news!" He said with legitimate empathy, that somehow what was glazed with sarcasm, "I was going to get some government agents on the case, but it looks like you already been handed the case and made yourself quite friendly with Miss Scott." He spoke tauntingly, his eyebrows raised with a self-sure smirk plastered on his face. I followed his gaze and self-consciously rubbed my lips, my fingers now stained with rose colored streaks on my pale fingers. Evelyn had stained my lips with her lipstick when she had kissed me or I had kissed her, whatever had happened. Mycroft's smirk grew even wider, how desperately I wanted to slap that silly smile off his lips. I glared at Mycroft as he laughed at my embarrassment and looks over my shoulder as Evelyn snuck in the flat.

"Evelyn Pepper Scott, you've gotten taller." He quipped, smiling sweetly.

"Mycroft Basil Holmes, you've gotten fatter." Evelyn replies sarcastically. . Mycroft scowls.

"I was wondering if I could give you my condolence after you've finished shagging my brother." Mycroft scoffs, already picking up problems left unfinished from our childhood. Evelyn rolls her eyes in annoyance although her cheeks flush crimson.

"What did you want anyway, other than to respark childhood feuds?" Evelyn said, blush fading from her cheeks, hands firmly planted at her waist as she stared down Mycroft.

"Just wanted to say hello." He smirked.

"You've said hello," I sigh angrily, "Now leave!" I say as Evelyn takes to making an over the top exaggerated bow towards the door. I stifled back a laugh as Mycroft twirls his umbrella and meanders out the door, all the time a sneer on his face like he's won something. Evelyn's eyes burn holes into his back until he slams the door and calls a barking goodbye to Mrs. Hudson and clatters out to the sidewalk. She then turns away and stares into my eyes with her cyan ones, now softened searched my face quietly. She obviously sensed my irritation with my brother and softly grabbed my hand and smiled. I tried to yank away for a moment but decided that I liked the feeling of her soft, cool skin against my cold hands. I give a small smile back. God, what was I doing? I was playing with fire. Evelyn sensed that I had recoiled from her, so she released my hand and wandered into the kitchen. I cursed myself for letting her go, jumping slightly when she poked her head out of the kitchen, her red curls bouncing, and my cell phone in her hand and my standard heat lamp in the other.

"Would you like to do an experiment on perspiration after death?" I can't help but smile at her enthusiastic attempt to cheer me up. I can't help but give a somewhat pathetic nod as she tosses me the phone, "Call the morgue, we need limbs."


	7. Snub

**A/N Holy Crap. It took me two months to update. TWO MONTHS! I won't keep you waiting that long anymore. I'm out of school, so I can hopefully update more often. **

**Snub- John's POV**

I walk in 221 leisurely to the light, echoing sound of dinging and whizzing and Mrs. Hudson's radio crooning some exotic music that wafted up the stairs. I crash into the messy flat, ramming my shoulder into the door with such force that the door hit the wall behind with an angry bang. I look at the ransacked apartment, dirty clothes strewn on the floor and random test tubes with unknown weird chemicals sat on the side tables. When I was angry, messes annoyed me and now being faced with the biggest mess I'd ever seen almost drove me over the edge.

"Calm yourself, you'll wake her." Sherlock's baritone rang out from the kitchen. I spin to look at him, attempting to figure out who he was referring to. Sherlock stood bent over his equipment set up on the rickety kitchen table, inspecting something that looked suspiciously like human fingers. He didn't even look up, his head simply cocked in the direction of my chair. I glace over to see a slight figure with flaming red curls, coiled up on my chair with Sherlock's thick coat wrapped around her body. Evelyn's body heaved with even breath, signifying that she was asleep. I sighed, trying to let go of my irritation.

"Any reason for the hasty exit?" I asked sarcastically referring to his hasty crime scene get away.

"If you haven't noticed, Evelyn was being traumatized by her mother's dead body." He sighed, not even looking up from his fingers.

"You normally wouldn't care, why start caring now?" I interrogate, Sherlock becomes incredibly interested in his experiment, purposely ignoring my questioning.

"Okay then," Brushing off his neglect as I round the table, "Who is Cecil Scott?"

"Stepfather." He answers curtly, I raise my eyebrows questioningly, "Evelyn's stepfather."

"Why?" I questioning, no longer interested in how he'd figured it out.

"He was having an affair and Evelyn's mother found out, so he assumed it would be easier to kill his wife than go through a divorce." As he said this Evelyn stirred, Sherlock glanced over; almost reassuring himself that she was still there. I nod solemnly as Evelyn turns over again and lets out a little moan in her sleep. A small smile flits over Sherlock's lips for a moment and disappears almost faster.

"So have you told Greg everything?" A look of confusion strikes his features but quickly clears.

"Oh, yes," Evelyn turned over again, "Evelyn gave me his phone number and they are tracking him as we speak. " Sherlock chirps as he returns to his work.

"So she knows?" I say gesturing to the sleeping lump, Sherlock nods, his dark curls bouncing. "So then explain why she's wearing your coat and sleeping on my chair."

"She was cold," He says never breaking concentration from his experiment, "And she was overwhelmed, seeing her mother dead and all, so she fell asleep." We both glance at her sleeping figure.

"So, she'll be staying with you?" I questioning. Sherlock makes a meticulous movement, a perfect cover for ignoring my question.

"I'm getting kind of tired of you ignoring me." I grumble as Ms. Hudson bustles in with a tea tray, setting a steaming mug next to Sherlock's pale hand.

**A/N I know it was short, I'm sorry. I wasn't sure how to end it. Next chapter will be some good OC/Sherlock action. No, not that kind of action you perv.**


	8. Moody

**Moody- Evelyn's POV**

I wake up disoriented. The fading sunlight streams through a dusty window and splays out in all directions. A navy coat sleeve strangles me as I try to sit up and regain my bearings. A soft melodic violin concerto wafts through the flat. I tried to place it, it sounded like early Bach on a vintage German violin. I swing my feet over the arm rest and place them on the dusty wood floor. Now who did I know who had a German violin? I stand up, and glance over the kitchen, a small flask of a clear liquid was bubbling on a Bunsen burner. I take a few steps away and the floorboards creak angrily and the music stops. I hold my breath as the door swings open. A dark haired man, with a ratty bathrobe falling open revealing his bare chest steps out. His a glossy violin hung at his side and the bow haphazardly dangling from hand. It was Sherlock. I was in Sherlock's flat, of course. I'm losing my edge.

He smiles sleepily, his curls all askew across his forehead. "How did you sleep?" his asks in his deep baritone. I run my hand through my tangled hair and sigh.

"I slept fine, thank you." I yawned and stretched my hands over my head. He raises the violin up to his chin and resumes playing. I watch him intently as his bow moves across the strings, creating an elegant sound that rung in my ears. I watched him for what seemed like forever and as he finishes on a glorious note that seems to soar like a bird, I give an enthusiastic clap and Sherlock gives an exaggerated bow.

"Did you compose that?" I ask as I hand him his coat that I had discarded on the squat seat I had been asleep on. He nods as he grasp the collar of the coat tightly.

"I played it at John's wedding." He says, avoiding eye contact.

"Oh, Mycroft did mention he got married…" I trail off, "But it was lovely." I finish, you could never go wrong with a compliment when it came to Sherlock. Sherlock's lips remained in a tight line, not a flicker of a smile.

"When were you in contact with Mycroft?" He asks, his tone verging on anger.

"Oh, we go out for coffee twice a week." I reply sarcastically and Sherlock glares at me in an irritated manner. "He stations me keep an eye on people. High profile killers, assassins, scam artists. Anyone who might be a problem to the government, I keep an eye on them." I sigh, "Most of them are undercover so I simply work with them and pickup tidbits that could be helpful. Every so often I help with the arrests." I plop back down in the squat red chair I had been asleep in.

"Mycroft never talked about you. He always said you had run off to France or something." He said now sitting on the black chair across from me, his hands clasped in front of his mouth, almost like he was praying.

"I never talked to Mycroft directly. It was some of the henchmen who were under him that hired me. I doubt he even knew I was working for him. But then again, it is Mycroft. He must have known something." I said, more to myself than Sherlock. His eyes were squeezed shut, I doubt he even registered I had been talking. I sighed and ruffled his hair as I walked into the kitchen. I glanced around quickly. No kettle and a clean mug full of cold tea seemed to scream out Sherlock's lack of tea. Without looking up Sherlock growled something under his breath.

"What?" I asked angrily.

"Go. Ask. Ms. Hudson. For. Tea." He said, exaggerating his enunciations. I rolled my eyes and padded downstairs, rubbing the well-worn banister. I knocked on the old wooden door that I assumed belonged to Ms. Hudson's flat. I knocked sharply and it swung open to a kindly looking sitting room with squat, soft arm chairs and cross stitched throw pillows.

"Oh, you're up!' Ms. Hudson chirped happily. I smiled and nodded.

"Do you happen to have any tea Ma'am?" I asked politely, "Sherlock seems to have a glaring lack of it." Ms. Hudson chuckles.

"Of course dear, I'll be up in a minute." She smiled, "But I'm not your house keeper." She playfully scolded.

"Of course Ms. Hudson." I smiled, no longer meaning the words I was saying. I trotted back upstairs expecting to see Sherlock deep in thought but I was instead grabbed by the arm and forcefully guided back downstairs.

"We need to leave now." Sherlock growled as his grip on my arm tightened. I yelped slightly in pain and tried to pull away to no avail.

"I'll pass on the tea Ms. Hudson." I shout as we clatter back out on to the noisy street.


End file.
